


Honey, You're Familiar Like My Mirror Years Ago

by deandratb



Series: The Best of the Best and the Worst of the Worst [1]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Masha Rostova AU, totally unrelated pieces of different stories, tourist au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 19:02:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15669339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deandratb/pseuds/deandratb
Summary: Unfinished stories from The Blacklist that may or may not be pulled out of this collection and completed someday. Read at your own risk; I just needed them to have a more-organized home.





	1. We All Have a Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> These are INCOMPLETE stories. These scenes have been sitting in my drafts for a long time, waiting for me to finish them, and have not been betaed, so please keep that in mind if you read. 
> 
> You're welcome to give your opinion and I don't mind if you ask me to return to working on the ones you like--just be aware that I might never do so. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An infamous Russian spy and the concierge of crime team up to steal a necklace, and get much more than they bargained for out of the arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this universe, Masha’s mother left her abusive father when she was two years old, so there was no fire. Instead, Red got the fulcrum without problems and never met Lizzie as a child...and Lizzie grew up the daughter of a respected and feared spy, developing her own skills into a career of subterfuge and occasional murder.
> 
> I actually love this idea but found the scale of the AU daunting. It's still one of my favorites for unfulfilled potential.

Raymond Reddington spotted her across the crowded room as he waited to be seated. Later, he wouldn’t be able to explain exactly why; her laugh was almost demure and her outfit was only as alluring as those worn by all the other women in the restaurant. He just knew there was a story there. An excellent one. One that hadn’t even begun yet--and he wanted to be a part of it.

Masha Rostova noticed the man in the dapper suit and the slightly over-the-top hat. Of course she did; she was in the habit of noticing everything and everyone, just long enough to gauge who was a potential threat, or a potential mark. Somehow he seemed like both, or neither, and her inability to pin him down was what captured her interest the most.

When his acquaintance led him to their table, where he was to meet the mysterious thief that would help him secure the ruby necklace for The Executive, of course it was the table where she leaned back and studied him with cool blue eyes. Of course she was the thief, despite being barely thirty. It was fate, he would think later.

He grasped her hand when she extended it as she was being introduced. His smile was oddly predatory, and she respected that. The seductiveness, the slight smirk even as his words were entirely professional, felt like a challenge that only she noticed. The man who was providing their introductions chattered on obliviously as she felt her cheeks heat under Reddington's scrutiny.

When the woman--Masha, he thought, with the slight accent and European airs-- shifted in her seat, he knew it was for his benefit. Her full attention was on their mutual acquaintance, but she leaned forward slightly, tilted her head away from him just a touch more, elongating her neck and promoting her...assets. It was ridiculous, and he knew it, to be instantly captivated. But he was.

Their table companions left them alone to come to terms, giving them space to size each other up in silence.

She was the perfect picture of privilege, Red thought: bored, rich, looking for a thrill. Until she looked at him, and he couldn't suppress a smile. No, that wasn't her true self at all. Her eyes threatened to slice through him, unforgiving and fierce. KGB, he thought without hesitation. As deadly as she was beautiful, and unafraid to show it.

Her hair was a dark brown, almost black, but with slivers of red streaking through it. Unnatural, candy apple red, catching the light when she moved. Yes, this was not a woman trying to fly under the radar. She was meant to be the center of every room.

He had the look and the gravity of many of the men she dealt with in her work, Masha thought, not terribly impressed. For a criminal whose behavior was whispered about across continents and years, there was a softness to him as well. Perhaps he had what it took to help her retrieve the item she needed; maybe he didn't. She would need more time to figure him out.

"Rostova," Reddington said into the quiet, his voice lingering over the name as her wary eyes watched him. "That's quite a legacy to live up to."

"I wouldn't know any different," she pointed out in response. Masha was used to the way people treated her by now: in awe of her famous mother, curious about her reckless father. She had chosen her path in defiance of them both. 

“Your mother, she raised you?” The delicate raise of his eyebrow couldn’t cover the clear interest she knew must have compelled him to broach the subject.

“Yes.” Masha shrugged one shoulder, looked out at the marvelous view. All she was seeing was a small, dingy room that let in the cold, but she kept her face blank, as though she were appreciating the stars on the water.

“I never met her,” Reddington admitted, ignoring the way she jolted at the words and refocused on him. “I knew your father a little, but your mother was...a ghost.”

He lifted her hand from the table, ran his fingers over it absently. “She was said to be a beautiful woman. That must be where you got it from.”

“Lines, Raymond?” Now it was she who lifted an eyebrow. “I expected you to be more original than that. You’re said to be a charming man.”

“It wasn’t a line,” he said, pinning her with his gaze. “Just stating the obvious. You’re not said to be a coy woman, Ms. Rostova, so there’s no reason to pretend otherwise. Your father,” he continued with practiced calm, “was handsome in his way, but you don’t look much like him.”

She tired of playing his game. Preferring blunt truth, Masha chose to wield hers like a weapon. “My mother was a stunning, weak, selfish woman.” She sipped her drink while she watched emotions roll across his face, each disappearing as quickly as it appeared. Surprise, concern, revulsion, dismissal. Then he wore a mask again, the easygoing criminal.

"And yet, a brilliant spy." He raised his glass in a toast that Masha didn't return. "To talented thieves and the ties that bind us."

Pointedly ignoring her own glass, she pulled out her lipstick and touched it up. "Are you always so sentimental?"

"Not at all. But in this case...I think we're gonna make a great team."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title borrowed from "Hunger" by Florence and the Machine.


	2. Shower Your Affection, Let It Rain On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the truth is revealed and they go on the run, Lizzie makes her feelings known. In the battle between caution and longing, Red has a choice to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun to write but I never really developed a plot to go with it--which is honestly a shame, since I think it turned out well.

“I’ve always been drawn to you,” she told him seriously, a confession no longer laced with shame. “Since the beginning, long before it made sense–even when it made me feel crazy. So I tried to blame you. For everything, really,” she added quietly. Here, there was shame.

“Lizzie, it’s okay.”

She reached out, holding him still with just her fingertips resting on his wrist. She could feel his pulse there, Liz realized. She could feel her own echoing it. She let go.

“Please, just let me finish. I’m not trying to apologize. It wouldn’t do any good at this point. You saved my life.” Her voice cracked when she continued. “You’ve saved me, at this point, god knows how many times.”

“And you’ve saved me,” he countered, his tone lined with the gravel of his disapproval, and reluctant gratitude. He would rather die than risk her safety, even when it was her choice, and she knew it. He knew it wouldn’t stop her.

One eyebrow arched, chastising him for the interruption, and he stopped speaking again.

“Once I knew the truth, I thought…I told myself that explained it. You were my sin eater, all along. Some part of me knew that I could trust you, because of what happened all those years ago. But that’s not it.”

His eyes stayed on hers, trying to read her the way he always did. Afraid of what was coming next.

“I wanted to believe that was the reason, because it would be easier. Safer.”

“Than what?” His throat was so dry he could barely get the words out.

Instead of answering him, Lizzie leaned forward, brushing his lips with hers so lightly it could have been his imagination. He watched her, unmoving, as she leaned back again. She didn’t seem affected by his lack of response.

She had expected nothing less.

“I trusted you from the start. I kept coming back to you. I needed you, because there’s something here. You know?”

She searched his face now, wishing he was less guarded, then answered her own question. “There’s something. Right here.”

When she leaned back in, just as carefully as the first time, his hands found the will to move. He gripped her wrists, firmly but not without care, and held on as she stilled.

His Lizzie was a hurricane, and she never listened when he asked. So he didn’t say no; he didn’t ask her to stop. He just stopped her himself, shadowed eyes continuing to meet hers without giving anything away.

“Red?”

His fingers flexed against her skin in response, seemingly without his notice. That was when she knew she was right. There was something. It wasn’t just her.

She was the only weakness in his iron control. That meant something.

“Red, please let go.”

He shook his head, finally shifting his focus to a spot just above her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”

“Ever?”

He twitched one corner of his mouth. “Just for the moment.”

“You can’t just hold me here.”

When he looked back down at her, intensity deepening the bright blue of his eyes, her mouth went dry. He could, she understood darkly. He could hold her there, and he could do what he chose, and she wouldn’t stop him. It was a dizzying thought.

“You tend to be impulsive, Lizzie,” he said finally. 

She blinked. “Okay.”

“This can’t…I can’t be…an impulse.” He regarded her a moment longer. “I’m going to let go now.”

Her eyes widened slightly and she curled her fingers around his hands as best she could while they restrained her. “Don’t.”

Now he did smile, just a little. “Well, which is it? Let go or don’t?”

When she dug in lightly with her nails, chin lifted stubbornly, and said, “Both,” he hissed out a breath and let go. Then his hands were back on her skin, just as firmly–one at the nape of her neck, the other sliding up the curve of her back, under the soft cotton of her shirt.

“This can’t happen,” he murmured, letting himself hold her, just hold her, in ways he allowed himself to think about only at his lowest points. Feeling her skin under his fingers, hearing her breath hitch so quietly it was nearly inaudible–sometimes his worst dreams were like this. But she wasn’t disappearing, he hadn’t lost her yet.

“It’s already happening,” she breathed in response, pressing her face into his neck. It was her hands, cautiously sliding over his back, that brought him crashing back to reality. He pulled away before she could feel any of his scars. He wasn’t ready. There was nothing to be ready for. What was he thinking?

She followed his movement, staying in his space. She smelled almost as delicious as she felt. And when she tilted her face up to look at him because he’d slipped back from her, he wanted nothing more–in his entire life, he wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted anything so much–than to give in. He knew with absolute certainty that he could lose himself in her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title borrowed from "Big God" by Florence and the Machine.


	3. You Make This Cold World Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red is a mysterious tourist looking for pleasant company; Lizzie is charmed but not as oblivious as she seems. A potential sequel to [this meet-cute fic.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12483748)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started working on this one because readers wanted more in the tourist AU verse...but I didn't get very far into it before some other shiny idea distracted me.

“You work in banking.” Raymond rocked back on his heels, visibly amused, though Liz didn’t understand why.

“That’s right. Nothing interesting, I promise you...just me and my computer, most of the time.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“You know, I do.” She was so used to people assuming she must be miserable that it was refreshing to be asked. “It can be tedious, but it suits me. No surprises.”

“Not a fan of those, I gather?”

“Not really. My upbringing was...sort of adrift. Single dad, lots of different schools, that same sad story. I like routines--constancy.”

Liz hadn’t realized just how much those lonely years formed her adult life; she’d never thought about it in quite that way before. He had a way of asking the right questions.

“What about you? What kind of work do you do?”

“Oh, this and that. Say, that shop over there has a gorgeous window display.” He pointed to a bakery across the street. “Want to see what today’s specialty is?”

"Sure.” But her brow was furrowed as he led the way. She had noticed his tendency to skirt her questions by asking his own, or through blatant distraction. The fact that he seemed sincerely interested in her answers was charming, but didn’t make his evasions less noticeable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title borrowed from "Patricia" by Florence and the Machine.


	4. Open Prompt Collection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storage space for all the ideas I haven't begun writing yet but want to save for later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of these ideas are prompts I received via tumblr that I don't expect write anytime soon. If anything you see here inspires you to write something, please link me to it! I would love to know.

Lizzington Red Dress #3, in which Liz admits it was the dress that made her decide it was time to confess her feelings.

Lizzington belly button kiss   
  
Lizzington collar bone kiss 

Lizzington: a kiss because I have literally been watching you all night and I can’t take anymore -or- kisses because I missed you and you really shouldn’t stay away so long

Lizzington: meeting in the emergency room AU

Lizzington + zipper, smut request

Lizzington, on the shipping container (planned sequel)

Lizzington, tourist AU (planned sequel)

Lizzington, the start of their physical relationship

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Story title borrowed from "From Eden" by Hozier.


End file.
